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by GestaltistCake



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/F, POV First Person, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-22 11:42:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16597193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GestaltistCake/pseuds/GestaltistCake
Summary: A few years after the events of the series, Bakura is back in the world of the living with Malik. The two women live together in a small town and adjust to the pace of daily life in an accepting community. This story is told in 7 pieces- each chapter describes Malik and Bakura's relationship from the perspective of a town member (OC).





	1. Welcome (Town History)

**Author's Note:**

> Abbey created some wonderful artwork for this fic, which can be found here: https://alchemy-of-thiefshipping.tumblr.com/post/179897349159/abbeywan-this-was-supposed-tob-e-an-illustration
> 
> Also for those wondering why I switched from using the name Marik to Marik, I made the decision after reading this post: http://www.ariasune.com/post/102588565004/the-problem-with-marik

I poured water into the potted plant on my windowsill and watched as the soil darkened and the leaves glistened in the sunlight. The rest of my office at the museum was mellower by comparison; historical texts lined the shelves, and stacks of papers were arranged on my desk. I liked the quiet atmosphere for working independently, but I also spent a fair amount of time interacting with the museum-goers. After tending to the plant, I put on my staff ID and returned to the museum’s grand hall, a room that contained entrances to all exhibits.

“Hello!” a tall blond woman in a purple hoodie greeted me. “The two of us,” she gestured to the woman beside her, “moved here a couple weeks ago and we want to know more about this place!”

“Welcome to town!” I greeted them. “You’ve found the right person; I’m the local historian, so it’s my responsibility to know the town’s history. It’s what I’ve been learning since I found this town a decade ago.”

“Interesting,” said the shorter, white-haired woman. “Start from the beginning then. How did people come to live here? And why isn’t it on any maps?”

“Excellent questions,” I nodded. I took a seat on one of the benches in the room and motioned for the women to sit across from me. “People began building houses here several decades ago for some temporary solitude from city life. Eventually, they became permanent residents, and the population increased until they grew from the size of a commune to a whole town. We’ve seen an influx of residents particularly during times of social and political unrest, and many of us have come here after being forced to leave our former homes.”

The women glanced at each other with understanding.

“As for your question about us not being on any maps,” I addressed the shorter woman, “the answer isn’t clear but I have a theory.”

“Tell us, tell us!” the other woman leaned forward.

“Every time someone tries to record our latitude and longitude or chart us on a map, they can never succeed. Whether it’s technological malfunction, human error, or the mysterious disappearance of materials, something is keeping our town from being found by everyone.”

Both women were still and quiet, listening intently.

I continued in a hushed voice, “My theory—I mean that in the colloquial rather than the scientific sense—is that magic is involved, and only people who have encountered magic in the world can find this town.”

The taller woman said loudly, “We’ve encountered—” her companion put a finger to her lips, reminding her to keep her voice down “—magic.”

“Magic is the reason I’m alive today,” confided the shorter woman, “and it’s how my partner gained her freedom.”

“It sounds like you’ve survived quite a lot. I think you’ll find more in common with your neighbors than you’d expect. And if not, there’s no magical force that will keep you here.”

They thanked me for sharing my speculations, and then I directed them to the exhibit on Ancient Egypt. 


	2. Living History (Ancient Egypt Exhibit)

A couple of visitors walked into the Ancient Egypt room as I was placing a label on the museum’s latest acquisition. They began viewing the displays, which were organized by topic; we had carvings, artifacts from religious shrines, funerary goods, weaponry, currency, jewelry, and storage or cooking vessels. I tried to give visitors a holistic sense of the culture by devoting certain sections to daily life in addition to the glorified things people typically associate with Ancient Egypt.

The women approached each display with a sense of purpose, pointing out details on the artifacts and conversing quietly yet enthusiastically about the descriptions on their labels. Finally, they stood by the pottery I had finished labeling.

“You go ahead Malik,” said the shorter of the pair. “I’ll catch up to you later but I’d like to spend more time here.”

Her companion nodded and continued on to the “Greek and Roman Egypt” exhibit.

“I couldn’t help but notice your interest in this collection,” I said to her, intrigued. “Are you an archaeologist?”

“No, not by profession. But I do have a certain… connection to the past,” she replied.

“I think we all do in some way. In fact, that’s why I became a curator: to show people that the past is still relevant to the modern world.”

“And how do you accomplish that?” she asked skeptically. “Most people are only interested in unearthing my people’s history for a glimpse of tombs or the mighty pyramids before they bury it again.”

“Yes,” I agreed, “there are several reasons for that. For a long time, Egyptology was professionalized theft. European archaeologists travelled to Egypt and often worked alongside Egyptians to uncover artifacts. Once the digging was done, the European excavators took their finds out of Egypt, out of the hands of the Egyptian people, and put them on display around the world. So of course most Ancient Egyptian exhibits come off as detached; they are, physically and intellectually, removed from modern Egyptian culture. As curator of this museum, I’ve tried not to send people that message.”

She nodded for me to continue.

“The room we’re in is dedicated to Egypt’s Old, Middle, and New Kingdoms, but the next two rooms explore its history in the following millennia, until the present day. That’s you’re your partner is probably exploring at the moment.”

She hummed approval.

“You’ll also be happy to know that our artifacts are the property of Egypt, as is anything excavated from there in the last 35 years. In a few weeks I’ll be sending them back home and putting up a whole new exhibit…” I trailed off, thinking about all the work ahead of me. “You know, I could use your help with that, —what was your name?”

“Bakura,” she introduced herself.

“Alright Bakura, would you consider applying for a job here?”

She stared blankly at me before realizing I was serious.

“Oh, uh… yes,” she said finally. “I’ll think about it.”

As she turned to leave, her partner came rushing back through the entrance, nearly bumping into her.

“Missed me, huh?” Bakura teased.

“You were taking too long,” replied Malik, taking Bakura’s arm. “Come on, you’ve got to see the rest of this stuff!”

…

“The visitors were asking about the acquisition of an artifact today,” Bakura recalled as we sat on my porch one evening a few months after she became my coworker. Malik was out of town to see her siblings that weekend, and apparently I was one of the few other people Bakura tolerated.

“What did they want to know?” I asked while sipping my tea.

“Whom we got it from, how long we’ve had it, that sort of thing,” she said. “It got me thinking… maybe we should include an item’s ownership history on the label as well.”

I looked at her curiously. “That’s a lot of detail for a label.”

“Some of our artifacts were taken from their homelands by foreign excavators, traded illegally, or otherwise stolen from their people. We should make that information public,” she explained.

“Good point,” I agreed. “These artifacts are living history, I suppose.”

Bakura moved her hand to her chest reflexively, as if clutching something that used to be there.

“I used to be just as lost as those artifacts,” she said while gazing into the distance. “Malik makes things easier, and working with our collection, and this town…” She turned to watch people going about their business along the road in front of my house.

I looked down at the dregs of my tea, which formed a ring at the bottom of the cup. Each clump of residue was loosely connected to the next.

“I think we feel lost when we’re disconnected,” I observed. “Maybe being open about the artifacts will encourage people to think about that.”

Bakura turned back to face me with an uncharacteristically determined expression. “I’ll start working on that tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was inspired by my own experience learning and doing archaeology, as well as this article I found while doing research: http://www.oxfordhandbooks.com/view/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199935413.001.0001/oxfordhb-9780199935413-e-25


	3. Perspective (Mountain Hiking)

I stood quietly with my camera in a patch of tall grass next to the path, watching intently for the subtle movements of wildlife. The sky, a gradient of pink, gold, and blue, was beginning to brighten. The moon was dimly visible to the west, its color fading into the clouds and light blue dawn. I heard the first calls of birds awakening from a peaceful rest. Then I saw some deer on the slope beneath me, and an owl perched on the branch of an adjacent tree. The scene was perfect! I began to focus my camera lens when I heard loud footsteps and voices approaching.

“You really had to drag me up this gods-forsaken mountain at six in the damn morning, Malik?” grumbled one of them.

“Of course! Just wait ‘til we get to the top!” replied Malik excitedly.

The animals dispersed before I could take a picture and I sighed audibly. “Excuse me, but would you mind keeping your voices down?” I asked when the couple approached. “I mean, talk about whatever you want, but please be quieter about it because you’re disturbing the wildlife.”

They both paused on the trail, breathing heavily from the climb, and I took another look at their hiking gear—or rather, _lack_ of hiking gear. Neither of them had sturdy shoes, and they weren’t carrying any water or snacks with them. This was probably their first hiking experience. I decided to forgive them for scaring away the animals.

“I didn’t even want to be up here at this hour, but my girlfriend insisted,” the grumpy one told me. Her cheery companion frowned, excitement diminished.

“Well don’t give up now. You’re almost to the top,” I gestured to the rest of the path encouragingly, “and the view from the lookout point is absolutely worth your while.”

“Told you Bakura!” Malik turned to her girlfriend with a smirk, and Bakura grunted in reluctant acceptance.

“You look a little tired. Want some of my water?” I reached into my backpack and pulled out a large reusable bottle, offering it to Bakura. “I didn’t poison it or anything, I promise.”

“Hmm,” she thought for a moment before Malik interjected, “Thanks, we’d love some water!”

Malik reached for the bottle and took several large gulps before thrusting it at Bakura.

“I suppose it would be nice to have some water, and I really should stay hydrated…” Bakura admitted and proceeded to drink her fill.

“You’ve got about one fourth of the trail left to finish,” I told them after they returned the rest of the water. “It’s easy going in my opinion, but maybe that’s because I come up here fairly often for my photography.”

“Oh you take pictures? Could I see a few?” asked Malik.

“Sure, I’d be happy to show you,” I agreed. “But first, you should see it all for yourselves.”

…

Half an hour later, I’d found another choice location for my photography. As my gaze followed the swooping arc of a hawk flying higher into the sky, I caught sight of Malik and Bakura standing at the lookout point. They made it!

And the time had finally arrived: it was sunrise.

At sunrise on a clear day, anyone standing on the lookout point would have a perfect view of a lake on the eastern horizon as golden rays of sunlight illuminated its surface. Supposedly, a volcano once stood in that location until its eruption transformed it into a caldera. What was once lethal had become serene.

Bakura gazed at the lake and the surrounding forest to her satisfaction, and then she turned to watch her girlfriend. Malik stood awestruck for a moment before starting to point things out to Bakura. They looked so happy, enjoying each other’s company as much as the view, and the light contrasted their liveliness perfectly with the background of darker sky and forest…

I focused my camera and took several shots to show them later.

…

About an hour passed before I met the couple again. They were walking down the trail at a leisurely pace, and Malik was humming softly to herself.

“Hello again!” I called to them. “How’d you like it?”

“Fantastic!” Malik grinned.

“Malik would say that about a lot of things… she didn’t get out much growing up,” said Bakura, “but this time I agree.”

“Glad to hear it. Still want to see my photography?”

They nodded, and I handed them printed photos as well as my camera to browse. They inquired about the places I’d travelled and the various species in my photos. There were also pictures of friends who’d journeyed with me in unfamiliar terrain.

“Wow, they look exactly like us!” Malik said when she got to the pictures from that morning.

“That _is_ us,” corrected Bakura.

“I can get you a copies of them back in town if you’d like,” I offered. “Most people hike up here by themselves, wanting to be left alone. It was nice to see you two getting along.”

They nodded in agreement and thanked me before continuing their descent.

“I’m going to take a biiiiig nap when we get home!” I heard Malik say in the distance.


End file.
